Cynthia Samuels

THE HARD PARTS

This picture, pulled from an image file because my camera battery died, is of a sign that appears all over the Jerusalem neighborhood called Mea Shearim. The article I linked to here calls it a “living museum” but somehow to me it’s always been oppressive. I go to an Orthodox synagogue and am accustomed to some painful facts about the role of women in Orthodox Judaism but this is different. To me it feels so joyless and heavy – I feel it sitting on my chest. No one smiles. No one will exchange a nod or even a glance as you pass them on the street – not the men who technically aren’t allowed to look at women not their wives, not the women – I’m not sure why — or even the kids. They are as closed off from us as if we were on two sides of a glass.

Sure you can buy things but that’s it. And it seems so strange to me that their stores are tangles of goods — no displays, no efforts to make things attractive – just piles and jumbles. I keep telling myself that it’s because the material world is so irrelevant to them. Their lives – every moment – belong to God. And to many I know that’s laudable. In some ways it is… but — and I’m thinking out loud here — in my view God gave us the rest of the world — why shouldn’t we enjoy it, too?

I guess I’ll just have to continue to struggle. I never could stand not being able to connect with people. Maybe I just want the connection that I have no right to expect. My husband says that I’m looking at THEIR lives through MY eyes and I have to open my mind to the acceptable differences between us. But they transmit such disapproval and so clearly feel none of the commonality that I want to feel with others who choose to practice Judaism that it’s tough. I’m thinking as I’m typing that it’s my bad – that I have to simply accept without comment the lives of others and stop wanting them to love me. Wow. Maybe that’s the whole thing — that and what I feel about the women and their very constrained lives. More to come on this I suspect.

Spent the rest of the day wandering around Jerusalem. In the morning we took a two hour class on the story of the Rape of Dina in Genesis. Because it was particularly important to me to read, particularly as a woman, it was quite exciting to spend two hours on it and the views of the sages about it. I love the intellectual activity that is part of Jewish study. Questions — then answers… but always more than one — shared observations, shared theories and opinions. To me the idea that Judaism is not a destination but a journey informed by shared study is wonderful and among the best aspects of it. Just the opposite of what seems to be going on in Mea Shearim. Gotta keep thinking… but right now I’m just going to sleep. Signing off from the City of Gold.

SILENCE IS NOT GOLDEN

Here we are in what is supposed to be the best hotel in Jerusalem and the Internet can not get from the wall to my laptop. I’m down here in the business center just touching base but will post more when I have true access to the web, my camera etc. Sleep well everyone – Jerusalem is a huge intellectual, emotional and spiritual provocation. Will tell more later. Gnite for now. I cant’ find the apostrophe on this Israeli keyboard.

ART AND POLITICS

Just to the left is a famous mosaic of Tel Aviv scenes that’s stood in the middle of town since the early 70s. We went with our friends Joel and Nurith to the Nahum Gutman Museum and saw photos of the work, which I loved. Naturally, Joel immediately decided that we had to go see it. And we did. It’s a dear. lovely, loving and evocative work of the three columns you see here, surrounded by a ring of more scenes that serves as a kind of frame — really lovely.

The museum currently features a retrospective of the work of Duda Geva, an Israeli cartoonist who died recently, quite young. His work was kind of disconcerting; much of it joking about the absence of God. He appeared prominently in Israeli newspapers — and the tiny museum was jammed. It’s so fascinating, in a Jewish country, that this very secular man had such a wide following. Typical of the enigmatic nature of Israel in the 21st century – battling between the disproportionately powerful 15% who are super-orthodox and the rest of the country and of the frightful battle for the soul of the country between militant, militaristic right and the progressives. There is such pain and despair — on both sides. I’m going to try to write about it some here in future posts — after two years in progressive and highly secular Tel Aviv we go to Jerusalem tomorrow where religion and more conservative politics rule.

SAFE ARRIVAL

We’re in Tel Aviv (that’s our view on the left) after a lovely set of VERY long flights. The kosher food theme could emerge once more if I let it; horrible on United from DC to Frankfurt — much better from Frankfurt to Tel Aviv. I’ve got to get over this. It’s clear that I have a food thing; it’s certainly partly about surrendering power over what I’m eating but there has to be more since I’m totally fine running a kosher home. I think from now on I’m bringing food — a nuisance for someone who already looks like a refugee when boarding – with laptop, a couple of books, crocheting (on long trips) and more. AND I have to get into the issues that are doing this to me – whatever they are. We’re so happy seeing friends we first met thirty years ago — more details when I’m completely through time changes….

AMERICAN ME

Yesterday I went to appeal a parking ticket. I had not received my tags from the DC government and was ticketed because they were out of date. The DC police are notorious for ticketing marginal cases – I can’t count the number of times I’ve gotten tickets at broken meters or tree-concealed No Parking signs. I work for myself so it costs me money when I go to appeal ; usually I just pay. THIS however was a $100 ticket so there was no alternative.

I was pretty sure they would blow me off. I had an Internet receipt indicating timely payment of the fees but was afraid that wouldn’t matter — after all the adjudicating official probably makes a third of what I make even consulting and I’ve experienced class-like responses in the past. But Ms. Cindy and her snotty preconceptions were foiled, quite wonderfully.

At the desk in the hearing room was Mr. Carter, an African American gentleman with half-glasses, beard, white shirt, tie and a jacket and beret on the coat hook. There were about ten of us sitting around the edges of the small room, in the center of which was a table perpendicular to Mr. Carter’s desk. On his desk: a computer, our pile of appeal documents and a printer. One by one he called us to the chair at the far end of the table. One by one we told our stories. "Guilty with an explanation — the tree hid the no parking sign — I am a transit cop and even though I showed my badge they ticketed me — I drive a construction truck and the lane was marked "construction vehicles only" so the no parking sign did not apply — etc." Each time Mr. Carter read and re-read the ticket – reading the information aloud — then asked for corroborating evidence. Most of us had documents or photos proving our case. One by one he dismissed the tickets – ONE of which he didn’t even rule on because the dates were wrong and therefore the "ticket is defective." Then he called me.

As I sat down he took off his glasses and wiped them on his tie. No good. Held them up to the light. Rolled his chair over to a file cabinet, opened a drawer, opened a zipper case in that drawer, pulled out some eyeglass cleaner, cleaned his glasses, put the cleaner back in the case, put the case back in the drawer, shut the drawer and rolled back to his desk. I though "Oh boy – he’s feeling orderly – he’s going to tell me it’s my fault and I should have gone to pick them up if they hadn’t mailed them in time." He asked for my plea. "Guilty with an explanation." He asked for the explanation – that the tags never arrived. He asked for my evidence. I walked over and gave him the receipt from the date of online payment – well before expiration date.

He read everything carefully — went into his computer. "Damn," I thought, "he’s going to see all those photo speeding (2-5 miles over the limit – for the record) tickets and damn me to ticket hell." Nope.

He looked up. "You did what you were supposed to do. We’re not going to punish you because the government didn’t do what IT was supposed to do. Ticket dismissed." He signed the release and handed it to me. That was it. Done.

NOW. I’m not telling this story because this examiner was so perceptive about my sweet law-abiding self. I sat there during the entire proceeding – with people of varying degrees of education, articulateness, race, dressed-upness and other differences — all free to appeal the actions of their government. For some reason this small proceeding reminded me in a very tangible way what I love about this country even in the midst of its terrible mistakes and what I see as a wrong-headed and disastrous domestic direction: The right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances. [The end of the First Amendment.] Whatever has (in my view) been violated in the past six years, we have that right and most of us take it for granted. For today anyway – thanks to Mr. Carter and the DC Department of Motor Vehicles – that "most of us" does not include me.

WILL YOU STILL NEED ME, WILL YOU STILL….??

My older son used to shave his head. He’d lost lots of hair on top anyway so just shaved all of it off and looked way cool. I used to tease him that he needed an earring too but he said he was his own kind of rebel – being the only person to graduate from his free-spirited university with "no new holes." He’s always been his own self. Very cool, he and his equally groovy brother have kept me up to date with what’s new in music, books, film and world view. They are, honestly, two of the most interesting people I know. But I digress.

Thursday night at a Thanksgiving dinner in his new, very beautiful condo, he started talking casually about his grey hairs. GREY! Then his [younger] brother chimed in about "a couple" that he had. Now this is not easy. If my children have grey hair what does that make me? Not to be selfish or anything but it’s kind of disconcerting.

Aging is inevitable and I’ve been fortunate in my progress along this continuum but when your kids begin to demonstrate the passage of time you have to take a deep breath and accept it. I just read a piece in the New York Times about Baby Boomers refusal to join AARP. I can relate to that. My PARENTS belonged to AARP. No thanks.

Yeah — that’s me just above here. I think in 1967.

I feel about as silly as Peter Pan ( I won’t grow up. Not a penny will I pinch. I will never grow a mustache, Or a fraction of an inch. Cause growing up is awfuller, Than all the awful things that ever were. I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up, No sir, Not I, Not me, So there!) but that doesn’t change my mind.

An old friend used to say "Call me adult anytime you want; just don’t call me a grown-up." I guess that’s how I feel. Counter-cultural and generational identity is strong in people my age and I feel it particularly. I did dozens of Boomer stories when I worked at the TODAY SHOW – including a series when Boomers (including me, Bill Clinton, George Bush, Ben Vereen, Donald Trump, Susan Sarandon, Goldie Hawn and Cubby O’Brien) began turning 40 in 1986 and an entire year of anniversaries of 1968 in 1988. I am formed and INformed by the time of my birth and have always known it. I joke that I’m a "walking demographic" but it’s true.

SO. I will handle the grey hairs on the beloved heads of my beloved sons. I pray for and wish them well in their own journeys and am more grateful than I can describe both for them– and for the experiences of my own eventful life. And that’s not bad — not bad at all.

SLEEPLESS (KIND OF) IN SEATTLE

We’ve been up since 4:40 (7:30 at home.) Fortunately there’s a CLOSER marathon on TNT so we’ve had some entertainment. Now the dawn is emerging (that’s what’s in the photo — our view from the Hyatt) and pretty soon we’ll be wandering back over to our son’s home for Thanksgiving. It’s the first year he’s done it at his home and it’s pretty exciting.

The airport yesterday was full of families with kids of all ages on the way to visit people they love for the holidays. Whatever we may think about our country – and there’s plenty to be upset about – and however much we may worry – correctly — about the state of American families when 40% of new borns are born to single mothers — it’s still true that most American families of whatever makeup are loving and devoted –at least part of the time.

My sister is having our cousin for Thanksgiving at her house in Massachusetts and it will be the first time in probably 30 years that this much-loved cousin will be with any of the Samuels “girls” on Thanksgiving Day. We have all gone our separate ways and aren’t together enough but those feelings that anchor our lives are still very much part of us and, I think, of all the people we passed coming and going in the airport.

So to all of you – and all of us — happy Turkey — love your families and count your blessings. I know that’s what we’re going to do.

IS THIS KOSHER?

WARNING: WHINING (completely without merit, I might add):

We were in Orlando all weekend at an advocacy training. It was my husband's journey and I went along for the ride. He had asked for kosher meals – it had worked fine on our last trip — but these were some of the worst food I have ever eaten. To the point where I was actively angry – angry! that this had become part of my life. They were in boxes, sealed with cellophane so the kashrut could be guaranteed. The first night the hotel sent them up with a wonderful bellman named Nelson and a tiny microwave where he heated them for us. The meal was called Buffalo Chicken Wings with Rice and Corn. It was a mush of rice, corn and way way waaaaay overcooked chicken wings. And tomato sauce. Plus it was spicy which I hate. Somehow this became very important to me – not sure why.

In the morning we were able to eat hard boiled eggs on plastic plates w/plastic silverware. Not so bad. Lunch brought spaghetti with weird meat-balls and tomato-flavored library paste. I took some salad from the conference buffet – which included – but was unavailable to me — rye bread (not kosher), cold cuts (not kosher) and cheese (not kosher.) We had Sushi for dinner which is ok and was good.

I often quote our friend MONK – "Here's the thing." I have spent a lot of time working on learning the rules of kashrut and often spend Friday evenings reviewing the rules (the books here [How to Keep Kosher and the Spice and Spirit Cookbook] are the best I've found) but it's just hard both to figure out and to execute on the road. I only buy food for our home with a hechscher (that U with a circle around it at the top of this post) and I know now to cook. As I've said before, the home stuff is fine – comfortable and real.

I think that the real problem isn’t the food it’s the exclusionary nature of this portion of the observant life. I’m going to have to learn how to manage it and keep writing about it until it feels better because right now it feels lonely in some odd way. Then I go to an event or to services at our synagogue and realize why I’m doing this. My husband calls it “the yoke of heaven” and reminds me that I’ve chosen it and will find a way to live within it. I know that’s true and that whether I eat crummy spaghetti is really not the issue. Reading the New York Times travel section and knowing I really can’t eat in most of the restaurants there is more the issue. OR wander into a Guatemalan hole-in-the-wall on 16th St. or a Greek place downtown or a Vietnamese place in Paris or even a steak house in Chicago!

HOLD ON!! I know as I read this how spoiled I sound. I’ve spent my life in amazing adventures in travel AND food and it’s not like I’ve never had these experiences. I am just really struggling with surrender I think. In some circles they call it “turning it over” to God. Our rabbi says “There is a God and it’s not me.” If I accept that then I have to accept the observant principles that inform the faith and the peace it offers. Most of the time I can. But boy it’s a bumpy journey.

NO BREASTFEEDING BUT HELP YOURSELF TO THE BLOODY MARY MIX!

OK. So it’s really true. Delta Airlines actually removed a nursing mother from a flight for breast feeding her child. The mother, Emily Gillette, noted that she was in the second-to-last row, next to the window, and “her breast was not showing.” A flight attendant apparently offered her a blanket to cover what she believed was already covered enough and she declined. At that point the attendant asked that the family be removed from this three-house-late flight. If you’ve ever traveled with a toddler late at night on a delayed flight you know how hard it is to settle them down. Besides, from the reports I read, the decision to nurse was made partly because kids often cry on takeoff and landing because of the pressure changes. One of my kids used to get ear infections when we flew because the pressure pushed mucus around in his eustation tubes – until our pediatrician suggested we give him Benadryl before flights to dry him out. So I know it’s an issue.

More importantly though – what could possible have “offended” the flight attendant who asked for the removal? We know that gate agents comply with these requests as a matter of policy and we know this is one of those puddle jumper subcontractor airlines and maybe they aren’t as worldly as larger ones but everyone has been a baby and she was in the back of the plane in a CORNER for heaven’s sake. Lots of you have been very funny on your blogs about this but I’m just not in a funny mood . It is a reflection of our larger policy toward children and it ain’t good. Somehow everything comes before the kids. Even the sensibilities of the only person likely to even notice this going on – that flight attendant.

While everyone is so censorious about nursing – I happened in the same weekend that I read this to fly from DC to Orlando and spend an hour and a half in the United Red Carpet Room – a very pleasant and useful luxury if one travels frequently. Here’s the thing. There are apples and bananas and oranges and 3-4 kinds of juice and pretzels and TWIX bars and sometimes even cheese and crackers sitting around in there. So when grownups are hungry – or even when they’re not – it’s all available and it’s all free (unless you count the annual feel for the Red Carpet Card.) I was going to write about how hard it is for me NOT to take a whole bunch of stuff in my tote bag – if only because it’s free. This time I failed – partly because the stuff was kosher and I thought we might need it. Three tomato juices, 4 tiny pretzel bags, five mini-Twix bars and two granola bars. And over the weekend we used them all. But isn’t it funny that I can get free food and carry it on in quantity while a 22 month old child three hours late for dinner can’t even get what’s naturally, organically, God-givenly hers? Somehow there’s nothing funny about that.

GOOGLE ME THIS

I worked for Excite when it was a brand new search engine. The idea was to write 20 word descriptions of every site and differentiate Excite as the search engine with quality descriptions to help guide the searcher. I wanted to learn about the Internet (it was around 1995 – near the beginning of search) and they were paying $5/review. It was a blast. Why am I telling you this?

I just finished a book called THE SEARCH: How Google and Its Rivals Rewrote the Rules of Business and Transformed Our Culture, by John Battelle, who is a remarkable pioneer – one of the founders of WIRED, the late INDUSTRY STANDARD and blog advertising syndicator Federated Media Publishing, Inc. among others.

As the title suggests, it’s about considerably more than the brilliant and turbulent birth and ascent of Google. Battelle makes the very good case that the rise of search as a web application was essential to more than the future of the Internet as the universal tool that it is. In addition, says Battelle, “Search is no longer a stand-alone application, as useful but impersonal tool for finding something on a new medium called the World Wide Web. Increasingly, search is our mechanism for how we understand ourselves, our world, and our place within it. It’s how we navigate the one infinite resource that drives human culture: knowledge.”

In other words, search is changing us, our culture and our world. It’s a very exciting examination of something that’s become so automatic and familiar that it’s easy to forget just how transforming a force it is. The book is out in paperback and if you’re a web rat like me, you’ll really enjoy it.